


Knit One, Love Too

by armadillosunset



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Crafts, Fluff, Harry owns a yarn shop, Hurt Harry, Hurt Louis, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Sad Louis Tomlinson, Slow Burn, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship, ish, might take that out, mildly mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armadillosunset/pseuds/armadillosunset
Summary: Zayn rolled his eyes and pinched his nose again. “You know, if you gave another person even half the attention you give a stupid ball of yarn maybe you’d actually have a love life and stop meddling in mine.”“Okay, hold up. Three things.” Harry held up his fingers in succession. “One: you’d still have Niall all up in your business and that’s probably worse. Two: you love my meddling, you’d still be running into the back room at the first sight of Liam if it wasn’t for me. And three: I don’t need a man. I have yarn. And yarn doesn’t string you along and cheat on you and break your heart.”—+—Or, the one where Harry owns a yarn shop, Louis is down on his luck, Niall is in it for the ladies, Liam delivers more than packages, and Zayn just wants people to stop meddling in his love life.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Kudos: 11





	1. Knit Night

**Author's Note:**

> Aahhhh! I’ve very excited for this story!
> 
> I always wanted to do a story like this, set in a yarn shop, revolving around yarn and the fiber industry. Knitting and (pining over pretty and expensive) yarn is my main hobby outside of writing — I swear I’m not some old lady! :)
> 
> So, of course, all the yarn brands are real, any mentioned patterns and designers are real, etc. etc. and Harry’s store is even loosely based off of my favorite yarn store (which isn’t local, so not a LYS to me, but whatevs haha).
> 
> I’m just stupidly excited for this, I can’t even.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this little fic <3
> 
> (P.S. skein is pronounced skayn, so, it rhymes with Zayn. You have no idea how many years I mispronounced it!)

Delivery day was Harry’s absolute favorite day of the week.

If he was extremely lucky, sometimes he’d get multiple deliveries in the week. Which didn’t happen too often as he liked to stagger his orders throughout the entire month, not only so he would always have new inventory available for his customers, but because it meant he had the time to properly savor the contents of each and every package as it came through his doors — giving each beautiful skein the love and attention it deserved before it was properly inventoried and placed in its appropriate cubby hole on the display wall, which was organized by brand, weight, and then color.

Today, however, was an extra special treat as there was not one but two packages coming. Harry couldn’t contain his excitement all morning as he flitted about his little shop, helping customers, ringing sales, organizing and reorganizing displays and samples, his eyes never straying from the window for too long.

The shrill electronic ring of the shop’s phone startled Harry out of his little daydream, dropping the armful of Malabrigo Sock he was in the middle of organizing.

“Got it, Haz!” Zayn waved him off as he picked up the cordless receiver. “Thank you for calling Lights Up! Fiber Studio: Do ewe know who ewe are? Zayn speaking.”

Harry smiled while he bent down to pick up the scattered skeins. Zayn was his best friend, best flatmate, and best worker. Okay, he was Harry’s only worker — as much as Harry loved this little store and worked his bum off to maintain it and make it profitable, the fiber industry wasn’t exactly a booming business even in the best of times. And, in reality, it was Zayn who did most of the technical behind-the-scenes work, like paying invoices and marketing and maintaining their website. He was the one with the business degree after all. Harry himself was an English major, which was totally helpful in all this.

Not.

“We’re open until five tonight. No, not A.M., P.M. Yes, I’m sure. Five P.M. tonight.”

Harry glanced back out the large shop windows. Still no sign of the beautiful truck with his packages on board. He was expecting a personal order on top of a usual inventory order today — a shawl kit he had ordered months ago, almost as soon as the designer had announced preorders had opened for his newest design. Stephen West was a god of the knitwear industry, and Harry would be the first to declare himself whipped for that particular designer, obsessively following him on social media and snapping up every pattern and kit the man put out.

Many of the finished items from those patterns were some of Harry’s best work, a few of which he proudly displayed on the walls of his little store, each above the corresponding cubby of yarn he had used.

He needed that package to get here sooner than later. He was itching to cast on already, from the moment he checked his email this morning and was surprised to find the ‘out for delivery’ notice. It was Wednesday, which meant it was Knit Night tonight after they closed, and Harry would be able to show off a bit, with his new kit in hand. He could almost hear the jealous oohs and aaahs of the women, and Niall, who frequented his little weekly gathering.

“Sir, there’s no drink specials, we aren’t a nightclub.” Zayn sighed and Harry turned back to find the man leaning down on his elbow, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re a yarn store — we sell yarn, not cocktails. Very sure. I’ve been working here since we opened. I’ll take that in consideration, thank you. Goodbye.”

Harry chuckled to himself as Zayn ended the call and aggressively slammed the phone back on its base.

“Of all the possible names you could have come up with for this place!” Zayn threw his hands up in the air with a groan. “Lights Up! really does sound like the name of a nightclub.”

Harry loved the name of his little shop. It was a pun based off one of the chapter titles in his self-titled, self-published short story novella (still available for purchase on Amazon Books if you’re interested, though strangely no one is — might have something to do with the dimly lit naked orgy on the cover, come to think). Harry absolutely loved puns. When he inherited a large sum of money from a great aunt shortly after finishing uni, there was only one thing to be done: quit his job and drag his best mate across the country to open a yarn shop on the outskirts of London.

It was only logical, really.

They got a call at least once a week by someone confusing them for one of the trendy little nightclubs in the heart of the city. Occasionally, even, someone would stop by on a Friday or Saturday night, all dressed up for a night out and extremely confused by Harry’s wares — and Harry would laugh as he watched the security camera footage from the comfort of his flat.

That all may or may not have something to do with a particular ad Niall had designed in the store’s early days involving spotlights over a dance floor and a sheep dancing with a ball of yarn. And if Harry found it utterly hilarious and kept renewing the overhead ad-space on the train where the ad was displayed, well, Zayn didn’t need to know that.

“I’m telling you, Z! I found that little indie dyer who names her colorways after cocktails. We need to start carrying her stuff so we can say that we do have—.”

Harry’s head snapped to the side as the little bell over the door jingled, signaling someone entering the store. “Packages!” He shouted as he barreled over to the door with the enthusiasm of a small child that was promised a treat.

Thankfully, Liam — Harry’s trusty parcel delivery man since he opened this shop and thus the bringer of squishy joy — was accustomed to Harry’s excited behavior by now, and simply smiled as he wheeled the cart of boxes ahead of him into the store. “Go on, Harry. Don’t need you peeing yourself again.”

Harry had not peed himself on that particular day, thank you. He had simply spilled water on himself in his haste to get up and sign for the delivery. That happened over two years ago now and Liam has yet to let him live it down, bringing it up every time Harry seems even the least bit excited for a package. Which was every single time.

But even Liam couldn’t dampen Harry’s mood right now. He snatched the smaller top box off the cart, the one artfully stamped with ‘Westknits’ all over the outside, and hugged it to his chest as he walked away. “Zayn’ll take care of—.”

“Hi-there-hello-Liam-it’s-me-Zayn-how-are-you?” Zayn’s voice hit about five different high notes in that single sentence as he stared straight ahead, eyes wide.

“Smooth. Real subtle. Doesn’t suspect a thing.” Harry gently elbowed the man as he passed by with a wink. “Keep it up.”

With that, Harry left the two almost-lovebirds to take care of the technicalities of signing for the delivery and beating around the bush in their blatant interest for each other. He and Niall currently had a bet going as to which of them will crack and offer up a phone number first — Harry has known Zayn for most of his life so naturally he put his £10 on Liam, double if he did it before Christmas.

He holed himself up in the back room and began carefully picking at the tape sealing the flaps of the box. First rule of owning a yarn shop: never use scissors on boxes of fiber-related merchandise — you can never guarantee how it’s packed and the last thing you need is to slice the yarn. Especially yarn you’ve been waiting two months for and told a teeny tiny lie to your bookkeeper slash best friend about how much you paid for said yarn.

There was a squeal of delight as Harry finally peeled the tape off, and pulled out a bag filled with yarn. It was beautiful, the pictures online did the yarn no justice, the colors so saturated and vibrant — the greys, and the gold, and oh that beautiful rust orange which was definitely something Harry never would have picked on his own— though, really, he shouldn’t have expected anything less from the great West himself.

He quickly shoved his hand back into the box and pulled out another, similar, plastic bag full of yarn — except this bunch was in tones of grey, blue, and green. It was... stunning.

Harry didn’t know which one he loved more as he looked between the two bags on the table before him. He had that same problem two months ago when he placed the order — he wasn’t sure which color combination to buy as he stared at the website, credit card in hand. So he bought both. Hence the teeny tiny little (*cough* £200 *cough*) fib he told Zayn.

He was still admiring the beauty before him a bit later when Zayn barged in with the other portion of the delivery. “That was embarrassing. I hate you,” he glared as he tossed the box on the table next to Harry, who protectively slid his new loves away from the heavy box. The skeins were still in their respective bags, as he was taking them out one by one to lovingly stroke them and feel their softness before placing back in the bag and moving onto the next color.

“So Liam still didn’t give you his number?” Harry’s long fingers softly trailed over one of the blue skeins now, the color of clear ocean waters, giving it a soft squeeze here and there, admiring the texture of the single ply yarn.

“No, he didn’t why — will you stop fondling yarn for two seconds? It’s creepy.” Zayn made to pluck the item in question from Harry’s hands but Harry was faster, shoving it under his shirt for protection.

“Not creepy. My precious.”

Zayn rolled his eyes and pinched his nose again. “You know, if you gave another person even half the attention you give a stupid ball of yarn maybe you’d actually have a love life and stop meddling in mine.”

“Okay, hold up. Three things.” Harry held up his fingers in succession. “One: you’d still have Niall all up in your business and that’s probably worse. Two: you love my meddling, you’d still be running into the back room at the first sight of Liam if it wasn’t for me. And three: I don’t need a man. I have yarn. And yarn doesn’t string you along and cheat on you and break your heart.”

Maybe there was a second reason for dragging Zayn across the country to start a yarn shop, other than inheriting a whole bunch of money. And maybe that reason had the name Evan and maybe that reason possibly publicly humiliated Harry and maybe could have torn Harry’s heart to shreds and stomped on the pieces.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. Maybe. Possibly.

Zayn sighed, still pinching his nose. “You know what? I’m going to pretend we never had this conversation. Nope. I just came back here real quick to drop the box off so I could go help Mrs. Bucket find a Cascade color that will look good on her cat.”

“Warm colors — Paisley is a summer!” Harry called as Zayn shut the door behind him without another word.

Now alone once more, Harry carefully pulled the skein of beautiful blue yarn out from under his shirt. He gazed at it, turning it this way and that, his thumb brushing over the twist of the skein just above the small paper label.

Yarn was dependable.

Yarn was forgiving.

Yarn didn’t expect impossible things out of Harry.

Yarn understood.

—+—

Knit Night was Harry’s second favorite day of the week. And the fact that it coincided with a delivery — well, Harry was just ecstatic.

They closed up early on Wednesdays at five instead of their usual seven or eight. Zayn would head out for a quiz night at a local pub with friends he had made since they moved here (“I love you, Haz, I really do but I need to get away from all... this... for a bit,” he’d say with a general wave at the walls when asked if he wanted to join), while Harry would make for the nearby food store for a small shop for the event.

It was like a weekly little party that Harry threw in the store. He’d push the small tables together and haul out the yellow and orange vintage floral tablecloth he adored, then start up the Knit Night playlist off a tablet and speaker near the register. From under the counter he’d grab the designated ‘Knit Night’ box and set out the little Tupperware containers filled with pencils, scissors, stitch markers, tape measures, and all those little accessories and notions that someone may need in a pinch.

There would be snacks and wine, an electric kettle with options for tea and coffee, and at least one person always brought a homemade treat. And given how good today was going, Harry was absolutely sure tonight Alice would be bringing her famous pecan roll coffee cake.

And he was right. Alice lived just around the corner from the little store and was usually the first one to arrive. Harry was deep into his second piece by time the rest of the regulars began to show, one shortly after another. It was a small crowd of people, with a few others who stopped by on occasion — anyone was welcome to attend, as per the little sign Harry had near the door.

There was the aforementioned Alice, a recently retired nursery teacher. Then Edna, a nearly-retired primary school teacher, who liked to think her baking skills far surpassed Alice’s (and Harry was more than happy to help eat their respective treats, he had a short lived career as a baker after all). There was Carrie and Cora, two best friends who finally admitted they loved each other after three marriages and thirty years of friendship between them. Josephine made an appearance this week, two months after knee surgery that stranded her at home. Jay came pretty often as well, when her rotating schedule as a nurse permitted, and often brought with her one child from her small hoard of children — tonight of which was Daisy. Or was it Phoebe? Harry could never tell the twins apart.

And then there was Niall.

Other than Harry, Niall was the only other male that attended — the husbands who waited in the parking lot and Ernie (Jay’s only son among her children) notwithstanding. And while Harry didn’t want to be the one to judge — because he himself, a young male, not only attended but knit and even owned the shop that hosted the event — but Harry was very confused as to why Niall kept showing up every week. The man barely knew his way around a crochet hook for goodness sake, spending most of his time eating Harry’s snacks and laughing loudly. 

Which, okay, that’s what they all did. Very little knitting, or any crafting, actually got done at Knit Night, it was more an excuse to gossip among friends and try new wines and teas. But one night, Niall had lingered behind to help Harry straighten up and Harry couldn’t resist any longer and asked the Irishman what drew him to this little gathering — which was the kindest way Harry could manage saying ‘where the hell did you come from’?

“Don’t get out much, work from home graphic designing and all. I live right upstairs, that little flat right above you, ya know?” Harry did not know. He always wondered who lived up there. “But anyway, I’m in it for the ladies. Women love a man who’s in touch with his creative side.”

Harry couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “Ni, no offense most of these women are old enough to be your mum.”

“Yeah, but they may have daughters — daughters whose mums already love me! Or neighbors! Neighbors with daughters!” Niall waved his arms, grinning. “It’s all about connections and networking. The possibilities are endless.”

Harry just shook his head as he continued to laugh and pull the tables back to their original spots. 

That was the start of their beautiful friendship.

“What up my stitches?!” Came the cry from the doorway as the little bell tinkled, Niall’s signature greeting as he entered the shop, locking the door behind him. Even though he lived right upstairs, he was always the last to arrive. Harry sometimes wondered if he did that purposely just so he could come in cheerfully shouting his greeting.

The group fell into a healthy bout of chatter after Niall settled in — and not so sneakily pulled the plate of pecan rolls closer to him. Harry had pulled out the kits that he had received this afternoon, receiving exactly the response he was expecting from the women. He poured himself a second glass of wine.

“It’s all so beautiful Harry, I’m jealous!” Josephine cooed as she passed the bag along. Harry preened internally a bit as he took a sip from his glass. “My husband would kill me if I paid so much for even one!”

“I just, I couldn’t decide! Still can’t.” He gently motioned his glass to the bags being passed around, being careful not to spill. He had never gotten around to casting on for the shawl he had been waiting so long for. Each time he picked up the first skein in each bag to wind it up, he changed his mind and went to the other bag, only to change his mind again and be back where he started. Over and over and over again. “But um, nobody mention this to Zayn, hmm? At least, not yet.”

Niall gave a cackle, nearly spitting out his drink. He brought his own alcohol in unlabeled bottles each week, claiming Harry’s choice in wine to be ‘simply inadequate’. Sometimes it was Guinness, sometimes it was regular old beer. Other times it was straight tequila that was strong enough to burn a hole straight through an unsuspecting stomach lining. “Hiding your purchases from the missus now?”

“I have a plan.” Harry downed another sip of wine. “Ish.”

It was a perfectly good, reasonable, idea. He’d offer up the second kit as a raffle drawing next month — each purchase bought you a free entry, and additional entries could be bought for... whatever Zayn’s math figured was best to charge — in order to break even on his impulse purchase. He just needed to figure out which kit to keep and which kit to part with.

“This blue is really pretty,” Jay commented as the bag made it over to her, nearly completing its journey around the table. She turned to her daughter who sat between her and Harry. “Daisy, honey, can you please stay off your phone for five minutes?”

Ah, so it was Daisy today after all.

The girl in question groaned. “Not my fault! He’s being so annoying! And wrong!” She turned her phone screen to her mother who just moved the girl’s arm down.

“He’s your brother, be nice.”

“Already got Ernie his own cell, Jay?” Harry playfully remarked.

“No, Louis.” Daisy grumbled as she began typing once more. “He’s being such a prat I swear to god—.”

“Daisy!” Jay hissed. “Your brother’s already having a rough go as it is. Least you can do is be nice. Especially when he’s not here to defend himself.”

“Louis?” Harry echoed, confused. He was fairly certain he knew the entire Tomlinson clan. Jay had been one of his first customers when he opened the store almost four years ago, and had remained a regular customer the entire time. He had even been invited over for dinner once or twice over the years.

There was Lottie, the oldest, who was the most likely to accompany her mother to Knit Night. Then Fizzy, who was the least likely to come as ‘arts and crafts’ just ‘weren’t her thing, no offense’. Then the twins, Daisy and Phoebe who came more now as Lottie was away at uni most of the time. Then the other set of twins, Doris and Ernest who were still small and only came by when none of the older kids were around to watch them — and Harry didn’t mind, he loved playing with the little dears (all children, really), and kept a box of applesauce pouches and crayons in the cupboard for when they tagged along.

But that was it. Harry was sure of it. Seven Tomlinson kids. He double counted to be sure. Seven.

“Yeah, Louis. My oldest boy,” Jay replied as she turned the small sweater in her lap, starting a new row — something for Doris if Harry were to guess, the little girl certainly loved yellow.

“My apologies. I thought Ernest was your only son.” Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Swore I’ve mentioned him. Moved out years ago when he went to uni, so eager to be a proper adult and all that. Bless his heart.” Jay shook her head with a smile. “Called me every day for years, forever a mummy’s boy he is.”

“And now he’s back on our couch because his boyfriend dumped him. Can’t say we didn’t see this coming.” Daisy muttered with an eye roll as she snagged another cookie from the tray Harry had bought earlier at the store.

Did the girl say ‘boyfriend’? Harry was intrigued.

No. No, he was most definitely not intrigued by the sudden appearance of another gay man in the area — a newly single man at that. But — no. Nope. Harry neither needed nor wanted a man in his life. He had his mum and Gemma. He had a wonderful little business that made him happy. Two great friends, three if Zayn would do something about Liam already. He didn’t need anything else. He was perfectly happy with things just the way they were.

However, they were kindred spirits, him and this Louis fellow: two men dumped by their partners, let down by the one they loved, the one they thought they trusted most in this cold cruel world, left to fend for themselves, abandoned to the elements—

Ugh. Harry really needed to lay off the Hallmark movies already.

“Boyfriend?” Harry choked out over his wine glass, anyway. Because of course he did. After a couple glasses of red his mouth had a tendency to rebel from his brain and it’s logical thinking.

Daisy glanced to other side before she responded, seeing that her mother was deep in conversation with the woman on her other side about the return of the man (boy?) in question. “CJ was a proper twat, he was. I never liked him — well, I hated him but Mum says I shouldn’t say hate in regards to another person. But I do hate him, especially now after he hurt Lou like he did.”

Harry blamed the wine for wanting to be nosy this evening. What did this CJ person do? How was Louis hurt? How badly was he hurt?

“My brother is like, the sweetest person in the world, you know? He really is, always smiling and laughing and making us happy and stuff. I mean, he’d give you a run for your money, Harry, because you’re also like the nicest person ever.” Harry blushed a bit at the compliment. “So it’s even worse now somehow, because he’s just a lump laying on our couch — moping. Like, we can’t even watch TV with him always—.”

“Daisy, could you be a dear and run out to the car quick? I left that envelope I brought for Carrie in the visor.”

Harry quickly ducked his head as the girl beside him stood to run the errand. He could only hope Jay hadn’t overheard him gossiping about her son. Sure, most of the night was made up of good natured gossip, but for some reason this felt like it crossed a line. He tried his best to immerse himself back into the chatter of the evening, back into the fun an carefree atmosphere that Knit Night was meant to be, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

Later that night, as he finished cleaning up and putting things away, he still found his thoughts trailing back to his conversation with the Tomlinson girl. As he finished folding the tablecloth and tucked it away in its cabinet, he gave a small growl as he realized where his thoughts were headed.

He didn’t have the time for this, the need for this — this almost morbid curiosity. For the hundredth time this evening, he reminded himself of his mantra these last few years: he didn’t need anyone else, he had yarn.

And so he made a compromise with himself: he wouldn’t think of this Louis person and his situation any longer, and he could bring home one of those beautiful skeins Madeline Tosh Vintage that were delivered today.


	2. The Eighth Wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains flashbacks to references of a bad/emotionally-slash-psychologically-abusive relationship. Not graphic, just mentions of things that happened to Louis. I’ll include a quick summary at the end of the chapter if you’d like to skip reading this <3
> 
> I debated for a long time including this chapter as it’s Louis’ POV, when the story is from Harry’s POV. But I felt it was important to get Louis’ complete backstory — and I went all out, giving him one hell of a sob story. And you know what? It’s my story and if there’s only one chapter in Louis’ POV instead of constantly alternating? Then so be it :)

*

Louis Tomlinson’s life was over.

Stick a fork in him, he was done.

You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist or a highly educated scholar to figure that out.

And, to add insult to injury, he was currently being mercilessly bludgeoned to death.

“Loooooottiiiieee,” Louis whined as he tucked himself into a tighter ball on the old couch in his mum’s living room, trying to find some sort of protection from his younger sister’s abuse. “Will you stop it already?”

“No. I. Will. Not.” Lottie punctuated her words with a quick snap from the rolled up fashion magazine in her hands. “Louis.” Smack. “William.” Smack. “Tomlinson.” Smack. “You are a grown man, nearly thirty for god’s sake.” Smack. “You should not be laying around, moping on the couch! Get! Your arse! Up!” Smack. Smack. Smack — straight on Louis’ bum, the power and surprise of which made him jump upright.

“Lottie,” he hissed. He grabbed at his sister’s wrist as she made to connect another blow, evidently aiming for his head this time. He plucked the magazine from her hand, disarming her. “Look. My life has literally fallen apart and gone to hell within a matter of twenty-four hours. Let me be!”

“You had my sympathy,” Lottie’s voice was sweet as she shook her arm free of her brother’s grip. That tone quickly changed when she put her hands on her hips, glaring down at him. “Really, you did. When it happened over a month ago!”

Louis just groaned as he laid back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. Has it really been that long? A whole month? Time seemed irrelevant as he laid there, bemoaning his life — or what was left of it, which wasn’t much. If he happened to catch himself in a lucid spell, where the grief had managed to tuck itself away, he would make a mental list of what he was thankful for.

There was this couch, for one thing — he was thankful for that.

And his mum for still having a couch for him to come back to right now, who also brought him plates of food without being asked when he couldn’t manage getting up to eat in the kitchen, which happened a lot more than he cared to admit.

And for his sisters and brother who kept trying to cheer him up even when he was having none of it and hid himself under one of the afghans his mum had made over the years. He was thankful for the streaming services and cable package his family still had, because without that there would have been a lot more self reflection during this grieving process than there already was, and the codes he knew no longer worked for his accounts.

After that, well, it was a crapshoot as to how much longer Louis could last before he began to spiral. Sometimes he’d make it as far as being thankful for silly, stupid things like socks or Ernie’s truck being a nice color of red over there in the corner. But, eventually, he’d hit a point where he’d think of something that reminded him of something that he no longer had.

Like when he was thankful for the clean shirt he was wearing (and for Daisy doing his laundry), which made him think of his favorite green Adidas hoodie. But he didn’t have his favorite green hoodie anymore because he didn’t grab it in his haste to get out of his old flat.

Or when he was thankful for his favorite pair of Vans that he did get out because he was wearing them at the time... but then he remembered all the other pairs he had left behind. Which also meant he only had one pair of shoes, but that was a breakdown spiral for a different day.

“Lou, look.” Lottie sighed as she gently peeled Louis’ arm off his face, peering down at him. “I’m saying this because you’re my older brother and I love you and care about you. But you need to get your arse up and off this couch. You’ve been here so long there’s probably a permanent Louis-shaped indent on the cushions. And given your ample backside, the middle seat’s probably a fucking crater by now and we’re going to have to have it restuffed otherwise no one will be able to sit there.”

Louis couldn’t refrain from laughing at his sister’s little rant. He loved all his siblings, but there was a reason why Lottie was his favorite. She was never afraid to tell him like it was and absolutely refused to put up with his shit.

But that didn’t mean he was getting up off the couch. Not today, anyway.

“I don’t... I don’t know Lots—OW! What the fu—OW! Lottie! Stop it!”

The young woman smirked because, while Louis had disarmed her of the rolled magazine, she wasn’t exactly weaponless — evident by the death grip she currently had on his ear, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft skin as she held on.

“You have two options today.” Lottie’s voice was sweet, as if she weren’t causing Louis great physical pain at that exact same moment. “You are going to get up and get job searching, flat searching, or man searching. Or you are coming with me to run errands. Your choice. But you are leaving this couch, understood?”

There was a sharp tug as she finished the ultimatum, pain searing across Louis’ head. He glared at his sister as he thought over the options.

He had already applied to a whopping three jobs this week, from the comfort of his smartphone — which was up from last week’s zero given Louis didn’t exactly have a car right now to reach some of the further available jobs.

He had no money for a flat because of the whole no job thing.

And he definitely was not ready for another relationship. Not any time soon. Not after everything with CJ.

Errands with Lottie it was, then. And, hey, maybe if he was lucky his ex had unfrozen their joint checking account and he could use his card to buy a few things!

Well, he could dream anyway.

“Pretty sure this qualifies as sibling abuse.” Louis grumbled as he stood up.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to resort to this if you’d just gotten up when I asked.”

He let the girl drag him up the stairs and shove him into the bathroom, because apparently a shoulder shrug is the incorrect answer to your sister’s question of ‘when did you last shower’. As the water ran for a bit to warm up, he dared a look into the mirror — and dear god, he looked like hell. Dark circles and bags under his eyes, his skin pale next to his blue eyes and facial hair that was less five o’clock shadow, more midnight beard. But in all honesty, he earned every bit of it.

Louis had been living a good life. He had gotten into a good uni off a decent footie scholarship, which left him very little to pay off in terms of loans. Found a wonderful man his senior year and he was utterly in love. Sure, they had their ups and downs, and CJ had his quirks. But they had their little flat in the city, and Louis had landed a job in publishing. They had their dog, their weekly date nights, close friends, frequent sex, everything. Heck, Louis was even sure there would be a ring on his finger in the not too distant future.

Was it perfect? No. But was he happy? Certainly.

So he tried to think of where it had all gone wrong — what had he done to initiate all this pain and suffering he somehow managed to find himself in the middle of. Everything had been going perfectly fine, so something had to have happened to throw everything off kilter, off course. It was the only possible explanation. Did he cut off a priest in traffic? Did his future self come back and step on a bug, thus changing the course of his life? Had he worn the wrong shoes one day, and after a series of domino effects, he brought upon his own demise?

“If I don’t smell some form of soap in the next ten seconds I’m coming in and scrubbing you down myself!” Lottie’s voice shouted through the small crack in the door.

“Jesus Christ, you just don’t let up, do ya,” he muttered, more for himself, the sound of running water drowning out his words as he stepped under the spray.

It all started on an innocent Tuesday morning.

He had thought over that morning (and the Monday previous) dozens of times, but absolutely nothing stood out as a sign of what was to come. He had woken up to his phone alarm and a boyfriend wrapped around him, as was usual. He followed his normal morning routine, showering and starting the coffee pot and electric kettle. After getting dressed, CJ was already in the kitchen waiting for breakfast and Louis had given him a kiss as he set down their bowls of instant oats and morning beverages of choice. Again, the usual.

Soon enough the dishes were done and he was out the door with another cup of tea to go. His drive into work was equally as normal. No excessive traffic. No new construction. No one cut him off and his usual preferred parking spot was open. He said his morning greetings to his coworkers as he settled into his little cubicle for another day. He answered emails and refreshed his tea in the little kitchenette.

In fact, the first unusual thing was his boss coming back and asking him to swing by her office before he went for lunch.

When he arrived to the woman’s corner office, he found not only his boss, but another woman he had never seen around before — he quickly, and unfortunately, came to learn that she was the company’s Human Resources rep. Then suddenly words like ‘budget cuts’ and ‘low seniority’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ were being thrown around the small room like they were nothing and before it all really sunk in, a box and a packet of paper (confirming his now unemployed status) was being thrust at Louis and he was shoved out the door to clear out his things and never return.

“I’m out! I’m out! Geez, Lots.” Louis called back as he dried himself while Lottie continued to pound on the door. “Just lemme shave, yeah?” Suddenly the door behind him opened, a small pile of clothes thrown at his feet. Jeans and a T-shirt and a fresh pair of socks — no fresh underwear, because, again, something he didn’t think to grab. He just rolled his eyes as he dug out a razor from the cabinet and set back on his reflection.

If he knew then what he knew now, he would have gone anywhere but home. He would have sat in a cafe for a little bit. Gone down to the library and got lost in the shelves. Stayed in the car and have a good cry while shoveling McDonalds fries into his mouth — okay, that he did do, but later.

But went home he did. At the time, all he wanted after getting canned was a drink and a cuddle from his boyfriend to make everything better. He just hoped CJ was in a good enough mood for such things. And, surprisingly, he was.

Until Louis broke the news that he no longer had a job.

“Get out.”

“I—What?!” Louis squeaked as he was forcibly shoved off from where he had been resting, curled up against CJ’s chest on the couch.

“You heard me. Get out. This is the last straw from you and I’m not housing a freeloader.”

Freeloader? Louis tried to plead his case with the man, but it was no use — every word, every suggestion he tried to form was thrown back at him. The next thing Louis knew, he was shoveling whatever he could grab of his into a backpack and a tote while his boyfriend — well, ex-boyfriend now — was calling the building manager on how to forcibly remove Louis from the premises.

Twenty minutes later, Louis sat in his car in the McDonald’s parking lot — crying whilst shoveling fries, and eventually a McFlurry, into his mouth. Every few bites he’d stare at the passenger seat, where sat a large box of instant rice, the last thing he grabbed as he ran out the door. He had no idea why he grabbed it, it was only half full — he still had no idea why he grabbed the stupid thing when there was so much else he could have taken with him instead.

A similar box was staring back at him now from where it lay at the bottom of the shopping cart while Lottie dragged him down every fucking aisle at Sainsbury’s, throwing what Louis could only conclude as a random assortment of items into the cart.

“Stop thinking about him,” Lottie sang as she perused a pyramid of oranges in the produce section.

“‘M not thinking about him,” came Louis’ grumbled reply, which was a complete and utter lie given the disgusted look he was shooting at the innocent box of rice. Why did they have to buy this brand, out of an entire aisle of rice options?

“You’re better off without him,” his sister continued, ignoring him and squeezing an orange before placing it in the bag.

“Am I though?” He snapped. He didn’t want to do this in the middle of a grocery store, but he was dragged here against his will. Might as well try to make a point.

The girl was silent for a moment as she placed the bag of oranges into the shopping cart and wandered over to the pyramid of apples across the aisle. She quirked a brow as she yanked a plastic bag off its little roll, shaking it open.

“I know there’s things you aren’t saying. There’s more to all this than having to come back home after losing your job and your boyfriend dumping you.” She picked up an apple, looking it over. “And it’s for those things you’re better off without him. A good man wouldn’t have done whatever he did.”

Louis stared in shock, taken aback at his little sister as she quietly hummed to herself, picking out apples. She had dragged him out of the house to give him a philosophical talking to in the middle of a goddamn Sainsbury’s, where he couldn’t shout or fight back without making a scene. She was good — he taught her too well.

She was also right, was the thing.

As much as he told his mum and his sister everything — he was undeniably a mummy’s boy, and, well, Lottie was easy to talk to — he hadn’t told them everything.

Like why he and CJ had broken up — rather, why he had suddenly thrown Louis out — and where the rest of his belongings were. He never mentioned all the little things even before then, the years of cut downs and snide remarks and holding things over Louis’ head. Louis had only barely passed one semester of psychology in uni, and even he could have told himself that was all textbook emotional and psychological abuse.

He didn’t mention going to stay in a hotel for a few nights to let things blow over. Or waking up to his car getting towed because his ex had reported it stolen — at least CJ wasn’t enough of an arse to press charges — and Louis’s name wasn’t on the registration, even though he was the one making the payments. Or that his name wasn’t on the lease. And except for one checking account where he was secondary, his name wasn’t on any of the accounts or credit cards.

Nor did he mention those very same debit and credit cards and accounts getting frozen, leaving him with whatever cash he happened to have in his wallet.

All he had told his mum — as he sat on the curb of yet another McDonald’s parking lot stuffing yet another box of fries into his mouth, was he had been let go from his job, he and his boyfriend had a bit of a disagreement, and he needed a place to stay for a little while so they could work things out. The less details, he figured, the better.

He’d patch things up with CJ, and he’d take Louis back (he always did). He’d find another job. He’d be off his mum’s couch in no time.

But a month later he was still broke, jobless, and CJ still had Louis’ and his family’s numbers blocked.

Just perfect.

“You’ve been talking to Liam, haven’t you?”

Lottie just smiled as she continued to hum and wandered over to the bananas.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> — Sad Louis is Sad  
> — Louis loses his job due to budget cuts  
> — Louis’ boyfriend breaks up with him and throws him out  
> — He has no money and no car because of above mentioned breakup  
> — Lottie has had enough of his moping shit and drags him out with her to do some errands  
> — Louis and Liam know each other
> 
> Next chapter is back to Harry and his beloved yarn <3

**Author's Note:**

> The shawl Harry bought kits for is the Fantastitch Shawl by Stephen West (I tried popping in a picture of it, but this is going to be like me figuring out italics and take a month or two I can feel it haha). 
> 
> Comes right up in google images, if you’re curious until I figure out how to insert images <3


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